


Grew up out of ice-frozen ground

by yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Coming Out, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Epiphanies, Implied Masturbation, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, POV Patrick Brewer, Panic Hiking, Past Patrick/Rachel, Personal Growth, Slap Slap Kiss, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25837009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/yourbuttervoicedbeau
Summary: Embarrassment and fury wash through Patrick in equal measure. What a snobby, elitist asshole. Here’s Patrick, offering a friendly welcome to someone else who’s new in town, and Mr Big City can’t even bring himself to say hello?Well, now he knows. David Rose isn’t worth a minute of his time.An enemies to lovers AU.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Patrick Brewer/Jake
Comments: 148
Kudos: 360





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [midnightstreet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightstreet/gifts).



> It's a bit of a running joke that when I try and write a prompt fill they always wind up longer than I intend, but this is on a whole other level. The prompt was "Patrick is already living in Schitt’s Creek when the Roses arrive" and about 800 words in I realised I was writing the start of a long Enemies to Lovers AU rather than something short and self-contained like I was meant to. Oops. All 14,000+ words of this are for you, midnightstreet, you menace.
> 
> A million thanks to the best beta a person can ask for, [this_is_not_nothing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_is_not_nothing), without whom this would make about 6000% less sense seeing as I wrote it in like four days and mostly between midnight and 4am. Also a huge thank you to my Rosebuddies for the validation and hair pats and Charades suggestions, y'all are the best.
> 
> Title is from Taylor Swift.

Patrick jumps when Ray’s voice shatters the silence of their shared office, ink smearing over the tax form he’s spent the last few minutes filling out. 

“I finally met Johnny Rose today!” Ray announces grandly, seemingly not noticing the frustration on Patrick’s face that quickly fades into a reluctant curiosity as he processes Ray’s news.

The whole town has been buzzing about the Roses since the day they arrived. Patrick doesn’t quite understand it; yes, they technically own the town, but that doesn’t seem to actually mean anything in practice. Maybe it’s just that he’s a recent arrival himself, that he doesn’t have the same perspective on the excitement of a famous family arriving in Schitt’s Creek as the locals do.

He wonders how long it will take him to feel like one of the locals. It’s been over two months since he moved here —  _ ran away, _ his brain supplies unhelpfully — and he definitely still feels like an outsider most of the time, no matter how friendly everyone is.

“What did you think of him?” Patrick asks as he pulls a replacement form out of the drawer. All he knows of Johnny Rose is the training videos and generic Christmas cards from his Rose Video days, which doesn’t really give any sort of indication of what he’s like face to face. But at least Johnny and Moira have  _ done _ something for their fame, unlike their kids who, as far as Patrick has gleaned from the various news and gossip items he’s seen their names in over the years, are famous solely for being rich and out of touch and having a recognisable surname.

“Well!” Somehow, Ray looks excited and affronted all at once. “He certainly doesn’t act like a man humiliated and humbled by his circumstances like you would expect. And his wife looks like she stepped out of one of those fashion magazines, you know the ones with lots of strange clothes no one actually wears in real life? But get this—” he leans forward conspiratorially, lowering his voice even though as far as Patrick knows it’s just the two of them in the house. “Johnny wants to  _ sell the town. _ Can you believe it?”

Patrick suspects the answer to this question is supposed to be ‘No’, but… well, he can’t imagine Schitt’s Creek is a prime real estate portfolio item for anyone, let alone for someone who, according to town gossip, no longer owns anything else. Instead of answering, he pastes what he hopes is an expression of agreement on his face; he’s learned while living and working here that Ray will soon fill any silence that Patrick leaves.

“Besides,” Ray continues, “technically it’s his son that owns the town anyway. David Rose. And who knows — he may want to stay! I hope not, though, because I will get  _ quite _ a nice commission if they manage to sell.”

From what he’s heard, Patrick can’t imagine any of them wanting to stay. But maybe he’s being unfair.

* * *

“Patrick, you came!”

“Hey, Twyla,” Patrick grins at her as he approaches the group huddled around the bonfire. When she’d mentioned a tailgate this morning he’d been hesitant, but now that he’s here, beer flowing and music thumping, he has to admit this is exactly what he needed. Just a nice night out with a good group of people.

Twyla introduces him to the people he doesn’t know and Patrick does his best to remember everyone’s names. Even without the introduction, though, he’s sure he could have picked out Alexis Rose — she’s dressed like she was expecting to go to an Oscars afterparty rather than a Schitt’s Creek tailgate, and she’s noticeably flitting between all the guys in attendance, flirting and taking selfies. It’s probably about an hour before she gets to him, her fingers stroking up his arm as she giggles even though he hasn’t said much more than his name. He’s never been hit on quite this brazenly before, and when she snaps a photo of the two of them she leaves their cheeks pressed together for a moment even after she’s dropped the hand holding her phone. He pulls back with a cough and an awkward smile, holding up his empty cup and gesturing apologetically at her as an excuse to leave but she just shrugs, moving on to a group of guys standing in front of one of the parked cars. 

He approaches the keg, where Stevie and Twyla are deep in conversation. When he gets closer he notices that Twyla’s eyes are a little glassy and he decides to stick with her for a while, just in case; it’s not like he thinks Twyla is in any real danger, but she’s clearly pretty wasted and Patrick feels better knowing someone is keeping an eye on her. His dad instilled in him way back in high school that if anyone looked like they might be getting a little too drunk at a party, it’s better to be too observant than not enough. Stevie takes his cup out of his hand without a word, filling it up before passing it back to him. He thanks her, and is just about to try and join in their conversation when she mutters, “Holy shit, he actually came,” staring at someone over his shoulder.

When Patrick turns a dark-haired man is walking towards them, so absorbed in his phone he’s almost knocked over when Travis goes flying past him on his motorcycle. Patrick has never seen anyone look more out of place, and that’s including Alexis — even to his untrained eye and in the dark it’s obvious that his clothes are high fashion and probably worth as much as some of the vehicles that are parked here, and the scowl on his face sends a pretty clear message:  _ I’m better than this. _

This, then, is the much-discussed David Rose. Before he realises what he’s doing he follows Twyla as she stumbles over to David and introduces herself, and David stares at her uncomfortably before turning his attention to Patrick.

“Hi,” he says as he hears someone approach from behind them; when he glances over his shoulder it’s Stevie, giving David a wide-eyed look like she’s trying not to laugh. “I’m Patrick,” he adds when he turns back to David, holding out his hand.

And David… David looks him up and down, purses his lips, and turns to Stevie without a word.

Embarrassment and fury wash through Patrick in equal measure. What a snobby, elitist  _ asshole. _ Here’s Patrick, offering a friendly welcome to someone else who’s new in town, and Mr Big City can’t even bring himself to say  _ hello? _

Well, now he knows. David Rose isn’t worth a minute of his time.

He follows Twyla when she stumbles off to roast a marshmallow, wondering where the hell Mutt has disappeared to. Out of the corner of his eye he can see David and Stevie engaged in conversation and something unpleasant flips in his stomach. Patrick knows that he needs to be liked; it’s a character flaw he’s well aware of, and has been a problem all his life. He avoids any conversation that might make people upset with him, will go along with what his friends are doing rather than rocking the boat. It’s a huge part of why he and Rachel kept breaking up and getting back together. The fact that David showed such contempt for him without them having so much as a conversation makes him furious. If he’d done something to deserve it, that would be one thing, but  _ literally _ all he did was say hello. 

He sees Stevie hand David the tube of a beer bong so that she can pick up a can, and Patrick gives up the pretence of not watching and turns fully to face them. Surely David won’t— 

But he does. He doesn’t kneel down, Patrick notices; probably too afraid of getting grass stains on his stupid expensive pants. But he crouches, and he swallows easily as Stevie pours the beer into the funnel without so much as an indication that he’s struggling to breathe. Patrick, having done his fair share of beer bongs at university, is begrudgingly impressed.

“Patrick, have you seen Mutt?” Twyla asks him plaintively. She’s looking around, but her eyes are unfocused and so it’s Patrick that sees him first, standing in front of the grill with his lips pressed tight to Alexis Rose’s.

Patrick grits his teeth. “Can’t see him, sorry,” he lies. He doesn’t really know Mutt, but he knows Twyla has been nothing but lovely and welcoming to Patrick since he arrived in town. He considers her a friend, and he doesn’t like seeing his friends get hurt.

“Oh, crap,” Twyla mutters beside him. Patrick whips around, alarmed that maybe she’s seen what her boyfriend is up to, but instead she’s looking very green and Patrick has just enough time to dump a few beers and ice out of a bucket before things get messy.

* * *

Patrick tries to put David Rose out of his mind, but it’s hard in a town that is not only owned by but apparently obsessed with him. It seems like his name comes up in conversation every day, so when Patrick goes to Brebner’s a few weeks later and comes face to face with a sullen and uncomfortable-looking David bagging groceries he can’t help but send up a silent  _ oh, come on  _ to the universe.

David clearly recognises him — his scowl gets a little deeper when he looks up and makes eye contact. Patrick grins widely in response, because he learned way back in high school sports that being cheerful in the face of someone’s hatred will piss them off far more than getting angry will. 

“Love the uniform, David,” he says brightly. 

“Mm, thank you so much,” David replies; Patrick can hear the  _ fuck off _ in the tone if not the words. 

There’s a woman standing beside David teaching him how to bag in a clipped, impatient tone that would make Patrick feel sorry for him if he wasn’t radiating  _ this job is beneath me _ with every movement. She rolls her eyes when David tries to bag each can separately, and clicks her tongue when he overcorrects by adding the eggs to a bag that already has groceries in it.

“You’re batting a thousand here, huh,” Patrick can’t help commenting, and David’s jaw clenches.

“I don’t know what that means,” he says tightly. “I don’t play cricket.”

“Now that is truly shocking information.” Patrick pays the cashier and picks up his bags from where David has shoved them towards him. “Good luck with the new job, David! Not that you need it — clearly, you’re a natural.”

He walks off before David can reply, but the gobsmacked look on his face is something Patrick is going to treasure for days. He’s almost at the door when he hears  _ David Rose, line one _ over the PA and he rolls his eyes. Of course David is taking calls while working in a grocery store; he obviously has no idea how the real world works.

* * *

That night over dinner, the highlight of Ray’s town gossip — and Patrick’s day — is the fact that David Rose was hired and fired in the same shift. Patrick probably shouldn’t laugh as hard as he does.

* * *

Patrick never would have said yes to the party invitation if he’d realised Alexis Rose was throwing it. 

It’s not Alexis he has a problem with. Sure, she made out with Mutt at that tailgate but ultimately she’s not the one in a relationship; he doesn’t know if Twyla knows or not but she seems to think Alexis is lovely, and he’s never heard anyone else say a bad word about her. The problem is that a party at Alexis’, by design, comes with her brother. Unfortunately, Kevin just says ‘party’ when he extends the invitation and Patrick doesn’t realise where they’re going until they’re pulling up at the motel, at which point there’s no way to bow out gracefully.

To his surprise, though, when he helps Kevin carry a keg into the room it appears to be a David-free zone. Stevie, who is frightfully observant and correctly interprets the way his eyes are flitting nervously around the room, tells him that David and Alexis got into what she calls ‘a domestic’ and that David is now sulking in the room next door. Patrick sags in relief that he won’t need to deal with any of David’s aloofness tonight, and taps the keg. 

An hour later, Patrick is  _ tipsy. _ He didn’t realise that what was in the keg was homebrew and it’s far stronger than he expected, which doesn’t really hit him until he tries to get up off the bed he’s sitting on and loses his balance, half the contents of his cup spilling onto the covers. 

“Shit,” he hisses. Twyla looks over at him before jumping up from the table — she’s the only one playing strip poker who’s still fully dressed; apparently, she’s better at the game than anyone expected — and grabbing a hand towel out of the bathroom, tossing it over a few people’s heads to Patrick who miraculously manages to grab it. He dabs at the beer, mopping up the liquid but leaving a patch of discolouration he can’t seem to fix.

“Stevie, these towels  _ suck _ at actually absorbing liquid,” he yells across the room, and she just shrugs at him. 

“Do I look like I give a shit?” she asks, taking another long swig of her beer.

The poker players seem to take Twyla’s brief absence as an excuse to wrap up the game with their dignity still (somewhat) intact, and there’s a bit of awkward milling around while they try to figure out what to do next.

Patrick’s eyes land on the bowl, a few strips of paper inside it. “How about charades?” he asks carefully, and Alexis’ eyes light up. 

_ “Yes, _ Patrick,” she gasps. “That is a  _ great _ idea. Everyone split up into teams!”

They push the table out of the way so people can sit on the floor, though Alexis opts for one of the wooden chairs after a concerned glance at the carpet. Patrick ends up sitting with Twyla, Mutt, Dane, and a few others, across from a team with Alexis, Stevie, Kevin, and some guys he doesn’t recognise.

It becomes clear quickly that the teams are not well-matched. Despite everyone’s level of intoxication Patrick’s team is trouncing the others, and his competitiveness is perhaps a bit heightened by the beer. Alexis doesn’t really seem to care but Stevie’s scowl gets more and more pronounced the more rounds they go through, until Patrick finally looks over again after successfully guessing  _ Inception _ from Twyla’s ‘rhymes with’ approach and realises she’s no longer sitting opposite him. He assumes she’s just gotten sick of losing and left, so he tenses up when a few moments later she walks back through the door between the room they’re in and the one next door with David in tow.

David marches straight to the bowl and takes out a piece of paper. “Oh, easy,” he mutters, turning his back on Patrick’s team to mime to Stevie’s.

Patrick flips the timer as David makes the usual signs for  _ film - two words - first word. _ Then he does a series of dramatic hair flip gestures and body wiggles; Patrick really sort of wishes he could see the look on David’s face that’s going along with these.

“Dramatic!”

“Wind!”

“Hair!”

“Dancing!”

The suggestions come thick and fast, and David shakes his head in frustration in all of them. He waves his hands and gestures  _ second word, _ then points to Alexis.

“Sister!”

“Blonde! Legally Blonde?”

“Ooh!” Alexis yells.  _ “A Little Bit Alexis!” _

“That’s four words! And not a movie!” David yells back. 

Patrick has figured it out, and he watches the last few seconds on the timer run out. “Time! Guys, it was clearly  _ Pretty Woman,” _ he says, and David whirls to face him.

“See! Even  _ Patrick _ understood it, oh my God,” he snaps.

“Wow, thanks David,” Patrick says dryly. David just scowls at him as he sits down. Patrick takes his place in the centre of the two groups, facing his own as he picks an option out of the bowl. 

He reads it twice, and has an idea. If it was anyone but David, he’d feel like an asshole, but… 

_ Film - three words - third word, _ he gestures quickly before drawing a loop with his fingers around everyone but Twyla.

“Boys!” she guesses. Patrick raises his hand, palm flat, and wiggles it a bit as if to indicate ‘sort of’. 

“Men?” Dane tries, and Patrick nods at him with a grin.

_ Second word, _ he indicates before turning around and pointing to David, who stares back at him in mingled horror and fury.

“Tall!”

“Handsome!” That one’s Twyla, and Patrick wrinkles his nose as he shakes his head which gets a laugh from his side of the room. 

“Fashionable?”

Patrick waves his hands. They’re running out of time, and the joke isn’t worth losing the round.  _ First word. _ He raises one palm and spreads his fingers before closing it into a fist, spreads them again, makes another fist, then raises two fingers in a peace sign.

_ “Twelve Angry Men,” _ Mutt says triumphantly, and Patrick looks at him in surprise but nods.

“Excuse me?” David blurts out from behind him. “I was your clue for  _ angry?” _

“Not doing a whole lot to prove me wrong right now, David,” he says with a grin as he takes his seat, and David narrows his eyes.

_ Game on, _ the look clearly says. Patrick loves a challenge.

As it turns out, while David isn’t great at acting out a title, he is an aficionado when it comes to guessing them. He gets  _ Shawshank Redemption _ out of little more than Stevie miming stabbing him, and  _ Interview with the Vampire _ from a series of gestures made by a guy who frankly looks like he might have been an extra in that movie. By the time the keg runs dry Patrick’s team is only winning by one, and he decides to get out while he’s ahead. Literally.

“Scared you might lose?” David snarks at him, and Patrick laughs.

“Well, I’ve already won, so… not really,” he says with a grin. “Sorry about your bed, by the way.”

“My— what the  _ fuck _ did you do?” David shrieks, but Patrick is already stepping out the door.

* * *

Patrick still isn’t entirely sure how he ended up at Moira Rose’s birthday party, but here he is at Mutt’s which has been decorated with surprising taste. Patrick always wanted a surprise party as a kid but his mom has the world’s worst poker face, so after a couple of ruined attempts his parents stopped trying. So it's nice that the Roses have gone to all this trouble to throw a party for Moira — even if they have dressed like they were expecting to attend some sort of high society gala as opposed to a few drinks in a barn.

Patrick is on his second drink of the night and is deep in conversation with Ted when there’s a tap on his shoulder, far harder than is actually warranted. When he turns around David Rose is standing behind him, arms crossed and a thunderous look on his face.

“Yeah, so, there's some girl asking where you are,” he says snippily. “And apparently she decided I look like your fucking secretary, so can you please go outside and deal with whatever that is so I can get back to my mother's party?”

He storms off without another word — which is probably for the best, because Patrick has no idea what his face is doing but if it shows even half of what he's feeling David would definitely dig in. He should have known; should have realised that the increased frequency in texts from Rachel would result in her turning up to see him if he didn't reply. It’s what they’ve always done in the past, after all.

He excuses himself to Ted and stumbles to the door, sucking in a breath as the cool air hits his face. Sure enough, when he looks around there’s Rachel, leaning against the outside wall with her arms crossed in a way remarkably similar to David’s.

“Rachel, what are you doing here?” he asks.

She unfolds her arms. “You weren't responding to any of my texts, so I decided to come and see you,” she says. “Your mom gave me your address, and your roommate told me there was some big party here tonight.”

“It's a six-hour drive,” is all Patrick can think to say.

Rachel clenches her jaw. “We've been together twelve years and you left without giving me a reason,” she says icily. “What’s six hours compared to that?”

Patrick’s stomach sinks. “You're right,” he says quietly. “I owe you an explanation. Can we sit?”

Rachel frowns down at the damp grass. “Let’s go sit in my car,” she suggests, and he nods. He follows her to her Toyota without a word, and she unlocks it before sliding into the driver’s seat. He climbs in the other side and pulls the door closed; when he turns to face her she’s biting her lip, twisting her hands in her lap.

“It’s good to see you, Rach,” he says softly, and she shakes her head.

“No, nope. You don’t get to do that. I’m not the reason you haven’t seen me, Patrick. I’m not the one who ran away.”

Patrick just nods in the face of her understandable anger. “I know. I’m sorry. I just didn’t know what to tell you.”

“How about the truth?” Rachel snaps. “I mean, I know we’ve broken up before, but you’ve never moved 400 miles away afterwards. If this is really it for us, I deserve to know why.”

She’s right. Of course she’s right, because Patrick gave her nothing but platitudes as he packed up his belongings from their apartment and three weeks later he was in Schitt’s Creek.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says quietly, and she snorts.

“You haven’t spoken to me for  _ months. That _ hurts. I need to know why.”

Patrick takes a deep breath, and chokes on it. He turns away, selfishly unwilling to see her face as he says this, and tells her, “I told my parents I was going to ask you to marry me.”

There’s a wet gasp from beside him, and he hears her take in a shuddering breath. “Right,” she says finally, her voice carefully controlled. “And your parents talked you out of it, or…?”

“God, no,” he says, whirling to face her. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears and her jaw is set tight, like she’s clenching it. “Rach, of course not. My parents love you.”

“So then  _ what?” _ she cries. “How did you get from thinking about proposing to packing your bags?”

Patrick scrubs a hand along the back of his neck. “They were so happy for me— happy for us,” he says. “And then my dad said— he said—” he sighs. “He said that asking my mom to marry him was the easiest decision of his life. And I realised that… it wasn’t. For me.”

Rachel closes her eyes, tears slipping silently down her face. Patrick aches to reach out to her, pull her into the crook of his arm where she has always fit, but he knows he doesn’t have the right to do that anymore. 

“Right,” she says finally. “Well, that’s that then, I guess.”

“Rach…”

“Don’t  _ Rach _ me,” she says finally, turning to face him. “You could have told me this, you know. Yes, it would have hurt like hell but at least it would have been  _ honest. _ It’s not like I didn’t realise that we were…” she trails off.

“Struggling,” he finishes for her, and she nods.

“Yeah. It’s supposed to be easier, right?”

“I guess.” It’s not like Patrick has anything to compare it to. 

There’s another long silence, the tension thrumming between them.

“Okay,” Rachel says finally. “Well, I came here for an answer and I got one, I guess.” She looks at him with a small smile. “You can get out of my car now, Patrick,” she adds, but there’s no real bite to it; just a deep, aching sadness.

“You’re not driving home tonight, are you?” he checks carefully, and she shakes her head.

“No, I booked a room at the motel. I thought maybe— well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.” She chews her thumbnail for a moment, a habit Patrick thought she’d broken years ago. “Thanks for your honesty, but I really need you to leave now.”

“Okay,” he says softly as he opens the car door. “Have a safe drive home tomorrow.”

She turns away from him as she nods. “Yeah, thanks.”

“I really am sorry, Rachel.”

She doesn’t turn back around. “I know you are. Thank you for saying it.”

He gets out of the car and watches as she drives away. He can’t help but feel like it wasn’t the closure either of them needed — but it was the truth. What else could he have told her?

He debates with himself for a moment about whether he should just walk home, clear his head. But to be honest, he could really use another drink.


	2. Chapter 2

Three weeks after Moira’s birthday, after Patrick’s confrontation with Rachel, all anyone can talk about is the fact that David Rose has absconded with Roland’s truck — and apparently, one of his mother’s bags. Patrick suspects the latter might be worth more.

He’s missing for a few days before he reappears in the café. Patrick sees him when he stops in to get lunch, sitting at a booth with his hood pulled up and his shoulders hunched up around his ears, and it makes Patrick hesitate. David is an asshole, yes, but he also looks exhausted and miserable and if even half the town gossip is to be believed, he has every right to be. 

Ah, screw it. Just because David is a dick doesn’t mean Patrick can’t try to be the better person. He approaches David’s booth carefully, but David gives no indication that he notices him. 

“Hey man, are you okay?”

David jumps, staring up at him a little wildly as though Patrick has pulled him out of some deep well of thought. When he realises who is speaking to him, his eyes narrow. 

“I’m fine,” he says, voice clipped and jaw tight. 

Patrick shrugs, turning away. He tried. 

“Actually…” David's tone has changed completely. It’s quiet, even a little defeated, and Patrick can’t stop himself turning back to see David with his face buried in his hands, fingers scratching underneath his hood in a nervous gesture; if it was anyone else Patrick would reach out and still them, but he has a sneaking suspicion David would not react well to be touched without warning. 

“Actually…?” He prompts, and David heaves a loud sigh. 

“Look,” he says. “Apparently you’re the only person who gives a shit— actually, that’s not entirely true, Ted sent a very nice gift basket, but I’m too tired to deal with any puns right now, so—” he cuts himself off, gesturing impatiently to the seat opposite him in the booth and Patrick finds himself almost smiling despite himself. The Roses have lived here for months now, and they all still act like they expect everyone around them to just do whatever they say. 

Of course, Patrick isn’t exactly proving him wrong. “That’s a bit of a stretch,” he says as he sits down, but there’s no edge to it. David raises a surprised eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t take the bait. 

“Have you ever, like, royally fucked up a good friendship by adding sex to the mix?” he asks instead. Before Patrick can answer David’s eyes are sweeping him up and down, uncomfortably analytical. “Ugh, who am I kidding, of course you haven’t. You look like the kind of guy who walks his one night stands home afterwards.”

Patrick bristles, even though nothing in that was actually offensive. And it’s not like a university campus is always safe for a woman to be walking alone at night, so Patrick was just being— well, anyway. He’s not going to tell David how on the mark he is; the guy’s ego is big enough already. 

“I have, actually,” he says, the words flying out before he can stop them. “Except in my case the sex was part and parcel with a twelve-year relationship, and  _ that’s _ what ruined the friendship.”

David stares at him, slack-jawed; this information is apparently enough to get him to push his hood back onto his shoulders. “Twelve  _ years?” _

“Threw you a bit of a changeup there, huh David?”

David scowls. “We’ve talked about the cricket thing.”

Patrick just shrugs and doesn’t say anything in the face of David’s frown.

“Seriously,” David says finally, obviously realising Patrick isn’t going to bite. “Twelve years?”

“I mean,” Patrick drums his fingers nervously on the table. “On and off. We kept breaking up and getting back together. But overall, yeah, twelve years. And when I finally ended it for good I couldn’t even give her a real reason. So no, we’re not exactly buddy-buddy anymore.”

“Still,” David says quietly. “I’m pretty sure my longest relationship was, like, twelve weeks, so.”

Patrick can’t tell from his tone whether David thinks this is a positive thing or not, so he leaves it alone. “I mean, you met my ex, right, at your mom’s party? She was pretty mad—”

David raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I forgot about that. The woman who mistook me for your secretary,” he says coolly, as though someone thinking he was a _secretary_ is the worst thing he can imagine.

Typical.

_ “Anyway,” _ he continues as if David hadn’t interrupted him, “I told her I was sorry, and while she wasn’t exactly thrilled that I couldn’t give her a clear explanation, she at least appreciated that. You should apologise to Stevie.”

“How do you know I’m talking about Stevie?”

The words tumble out before he can stop them. “How many other friends do you have here?”

“Wow,” David says flatly. “Okay. Thanks so much for the advice. Feel free to forget I said anything. Not sure why I’m talking to  _ you _ about this anyway.”

Patrick takes a deep breath before he says something he regrets. David’s prickliness has a way of digging into him, exasperating him in a way almost no one else can. “You’re welcome,” he says, stamping the irritation down, and David gives him a strange look.

“I was being very, very sarcastic,” he points out, and Patrick just shakes his head as he gets up.

“I wouldn’t expect anything else, David.”

* * *

Patrick gets restless in the winter months, with no baseball to occupy him and the weather making the hiking trails a dicey option. He starts using his weekends to explore the towns around Schitt’s Creek, finding farmer’s markets and local art exhibitions and town fairs.

One Saturday finds him in a museum in Elm Valley that he didn’t know existed. It’s a nondescript brick building and he almost drove right past it before he spotted the small banner, but when he steps inside he realises it’s one of those deceptively large spaces.

The woman at the information centre waves at him as he steps inside. 

“Welcome,” she says brightly. “Have you heard about our current exhibit for the month?”

Patrick shakes his head. “I didn’t even know this place was here,” he says honestly. “I was just driving past and decided to stop in.”

“Oh, great!” she replies. “Well, through the main doors are our permanent exhibitions, but if you turn left just after you get in, that’s where we have travelling exhibitions. Right now it’s a queer history exhibit, and I totally recommend it.”

“Oh, thanks,” Patrick says with a smile as he heads through the doors. He turns left, reasoning that he should check out the temporary exhibit first in case he runs out of time. When he enters the room the first thing he sees is a basic timeline of LGBTQ+ history in Canada. Some of this he knows — he was in high school when Ontario legalised same-sex marriage and they’d actually used it as a topic in his debate class, somewhat surprisingly for a Catholic school. Patrick had been assigned the ‘pro’ position and had memorised a range of facts and figures, including some of the dates in front of him: decriminalisation of homosexuality, the first Pride parade, sexual orientation being added to the Human Rights Act. He’d kept his arguments factual, refusing to be drawn into an unquantifiable morality argument.

He’d won, too. 

Around the edges of the room are a bunch of photographs, and Patrick moves around as he looks at them. There are protests and parades, publications and police raids. When he’s looked at all the pictures he moves his attention to the middle of the room where there are a dozen pairs of headphones attached to a pole, small screens on a desk underneath them.

He wanders over.  _ Queer stories, _ the header reads. It’s a range of LGBTQ+ people telling their own stories in their own words, and Patrick picks up a pair of headphones and puts them on before pressing play. 

The first speaker sounds young. He talks about always knowing he was different, about falling in love with a boy on his first day of high school and assuming the other boy was straight. He tells the story of working up the courage to ask him to a dance only to find out the other boy had also been trying to figure out how to ask him. It’s a sweet story, and it makes Patrick smile.

The second speaker starts by saying they use they/them pronouns.  _ Genderqueer, _ they say, a word Patrick has never heard but can guess the meaning of, though he makes a mental note to look it up later. They talk about struggling with their relationship to their gender, about trying on a few different labels before they found the right one for them. 

Speaker three has a warm, welcoming voice. “I didn’t realise I was gay until I was 34,” he starts. “I dated women, because that’s what you did. I thought all men noticed other men on the street, dreamed about them occasionally. I thought everyone else felt about kissing and sex the way I did — it was fine, it was nice to feel good with another person, but it wasn’t the electrifying, all-encompassing thing Hollywood made it out to be. But then I met a man who fascinated me. I found excuses to put myself in his space, thought about him all the time. And the first time I kissed him, I found something I never realised I was missing.”

There’s a static in Patrick’s ears; something is wrong with the recording, except when he removes the headphones it’s still there, almost drowning out the rasp of his breathing. 

_ I thought all men noticed other men on the street, dreamed about them occasionally. _

In grade 12 he’d played a championship hockey game against the neighbouring school. One of the players on the opposing team had taken to checking Patrick like he was being paid to do it, their bodies slamming together over and over throughout the game. Patrick had thought about it for weeks, his pulse racing every time he did. He thought it was rage.

The night of the party at the motel his mind had been full of dark hair and a haughty voice as he stepped under the spray of the shower. A neurological misfire, he’d told himself — he was drunk, David had gotten under his skin, and the wires in his brain had gotten crossed. Honestly, he’d basically forgotten about it by the next morning.

_ I thought everyone else felt about kissing and sex the way I did. _

Sex with the other girls, when he and Rachel were on a break, was fine. He got off, they got off. 

Sex with Rachel was good, usually. Not at first — they’d both been virgins, there was a lot of fumbling and figuring things out, but they’d gotten to know each other’s bodies over time. He loved to go down on her, liked feeling her writhe underneath him and knowing he was making her feel good. That was usually enough to get him going, and their bodies slotted together with a kind of familiarity that made him feel warm inside.

_ I found something I never realised I was missing. _

Oh, God. That can’t— 

He’d know, right?

Right?

* * *

Some people freeze up when they panic. Others cry.

Patrick goes into research mode.

Unfortunately, the internet is proving  _ spectacularly _ unhelpful. He gets a lot of websites geared towards teenagers, some Buzzfeed quizzes which… don’t exactly seem highly scientific, a few guides to coming out later in life but they don’t seem like they’ll be relevant until he knows there’s something to come out  _ as. _ After the fifth time he reads that he doesn’t need to find the answers right away — a nice sentiment, but obviously written by someone who doesn’t know him at all — he clicks out of the browser with a growl of frustration.

After double-checking that he is in fact alone in the house, he moves to a less academic form of internet research.

Porn has never really been a big part of Patrick’s life. When he was with Rachel it felt… disrespectful, to look at other women to get off; besides, Patrick has always kind of shut off his brain during both sex and masturbation. He doesn’t think of anything, really, just focuses on the physical sensations and loses himself in them. 

But he’s been in enough locker rooms to know a few of the most popular porn sites, so that’s where he finds himself navigating to. He makes sure his volume is turned almost all the way down — he’s not risking headphones, not on the off-chance Ray comes home — then he takes a deep breath and clicks the ‘Gay’ category before he can change his mind.

87,673 videos. Well. Okay then.

He scrolls past several… extremely descriptive titles before he sees a video still that intrigues him. Unlike most of the other images on the page it’s not particularly graphic; two guys with their shirts off, one tall and dark-haired, the other a little shorter and more compact. They’re both attractive, but more importantly, they’re not pouting for the camera like some of the others; they’re facing each other, one man’s hand on the other’s chest.

Patrick clicks play, and his body’s response is immediate. They’re not even fully naked, just kissing, but Patrick can already feel himself starting to get hard, his breath forcing itself out in short pants. He thinks about what it would feel like, running his hands across a man’s body like the actors in the video are doing to each other, having someone else’s erection pressing into his own.

_ Please don’t come home yet, Ray, _ he begs silently as he undoes the fly on his jeans.

* * *

The next few weeks pass in a blur. Ray actually has a lot more clients than Patrick would have thought, and the days all start to blend together into one giant haze of friendly small talk and government forms. The evenings are— well, those are a mix of reading everything he can get his hands on about identity and labels when Ray’s home, and getting his hands on himself whenever Ray isn’t home. He almost told Twyla he was gay the other day when he ordered a grilled cheese for lunch, but coming out for the first time  _ at his age _ felt too big to tack on after anything involving the words  _ to go. _

His mom’s birthday kind of sneaks up on him — he only realizes when he’s filling out the date on the forms Bob needed help with for the garage. With no time to order something and get it sent to him first before he posts it off to her — he doesn’t like to send gifts directly, part of the point of gift-giving is to wrap and personalise it yourself — he takes an afternoon off work and heads out to Elmdale. The first few shops he tries don’t strike any inspiration so he heads into the Blouse Barn, only to stifle a groan when he sees who is standing behind the counter.

“Oh,” David says when he glances up. “Hi.” His eyes flicker over Patrick, who can’t help but feel like his sartorial choices are being judged and found wanting. “Can I help you find something?”

The words are a little stilted, and Patrick’s not sure if it’s because of him or if David just isn’t a very good salesperson. “No thanks. Just looking for something for my mom,” he says.

David nods. “Mmkay. Well, if you need help finding anything…”

“I think I can manage, thanks,” Patrick cuts him off quickly, and David just shrugs.

Patrick can’t help stealing glances at him as he browses the racks. He needs someone to talk to; maybe it’s time to rip off the band-aid, before he tells Twyla in the middle of a lunch rush. David, for all his many faults and general abrasiveness, has presumably been somewhere like where he is. And maybe it would be less awkward to say it for the first time to someone he barely interacts with, someone whose opinion of him frankly doesn’t matter much.

Somehow, in between the leopard print and the sequins, Patrick actually finds something he thinks is quite nice — a navy blouse that he thinks his mom would like. Before he can change his mind he picks and takes it to the counter, laying it out in front of David as he tries to figure out what to say. As David is removing the security tag, Patrick screws up his courage.

“David, can I ask you something… personal?” 

David stares at him. “Um, why me?”

“Don’t you think if I had literally anyone else I could ask, I would?” Patrick shoots back before he can stop himself, and is gratified when the corner of David’s lip twitches, just slightly. 

“Mm, okay, I see your point. Look, I’m not good with advice, or… genuine human emotion. But sure, ask.”

Patrick drops his gaze to the counter. “I just, um, hmm.” He gulps in a breath; why is this so  _ hard, _ goddammit? “How did you… come out? To your parents?”

There’s a long silence before Patrick finally musters up the courage to glance up again. When he does, he sees a look of gentle understanding he honestly didn’t think David’s face was capable of making and he realises with a shock that he might actually be able to like a David Rose who doesn’t constantly have his guard up. 

“Well,” David says slowly, “um, I just brought this couple home in college and told my parents to deal with it. But I suspect that’s not quite what you’re going for, so.” 

Patrick chokes out a laugh. “I was thinking about a slightly more delicate approach, yeah. Besides, I’m not… there isn’t a person to introduce them to or anything.” He shrugs. “Maybe it doesn’t matter until there is.”

David’s face takes on a slightly pained expression, as though he’s allergic to the sincerity Patrick is forcing him to express. “You know I’m pansexual, not gay, right?”

“Yeah.” He was told as much by Ray, who is on the town council with Roland, who apparently got the information directly from Johnny Rose. He decides not to elaborate on the small-town information chain, and David doesn’t ask. 

“Great. Well, then you know I’m qualified to tell you that your sexuality and who you’re sleeping with right now have nothing to do with each other.” This last bit comes out fiercely, like it’s a lecture David’s given before. 

“Okay,” Patrick says quietly. “Thanks. And, um, I’m pretty sure I… am.” At David’s questioning eyebrow, he clears his throat. “Gay.”

It comes out softer than he means it to, but David just nods. “Right.” He hesitates before adding, “Now, can I ask  _ you _ something?”

“Oh, coming out to you wasn’t enough?” Patrick says jokingly, and David’s lips twist to try and hide a smile but he doesn’t say anything so Patrick adds: “Go on, then.”

The smile slips off David’s face and he looks seriously at Patrick as he holds up the blouse folded up between them on the counter. “Do you hate your mother?”

“Do I— what? No!”

“Then why,” David asks, “are you buying her a birthday present from such a skanky store?”

Patrick blinks.  _ “You _ work here.”

“Unfortunately. Which means I know that unless your mom is engaging in Meryl Streep roleplay, this is probably not the right store for her.”

“That would be a horrifyingly specific thing to know about my mother, David.”

David has the look of a man haunted by the things he’s seen. “It’s a horrifyingly specific thing to know about anyone.”

Patrick decides not to ask questions. “Okay, well, I will… not take the blouse, then.” He tilts his head. “You know, as a business consultant I feel like I should point out that talking your customers out of a sale isn’t a great long-term strategy.”

“Mm. Well as a brand consultant, let me assure you I’m planning to make some changes to our offerings.”

Patrick laughs before he can stop himself. “I look forward to seeing the selection you have for my mom’s next birthday, then.” 

David nods quickly. “As long as durability isn’t the top feature you’re looking for, I’m sure we’ll be able to find something.”

Patrick starts to think that statement through and quickly realises it’s better not to. “Okay,” he says. “And David… thanks. For listening. I know we’re not— but I appreciate it.”

David waves the words away. “Believe it or not, this is not the first time I’ve been asked to It Gets Better someone since coming here,” he says with a small shake of his head.

“Oh, is that what you did?”

“I mean…” David tilts his head. “Do you feel better?”

Surprisingly, he does. Just the act of saying it out loud, even to someone he barely knows, seems to have unknotted him slightly. “I do, actually,” he says, and David just gestures as if to say,  _ You see? _

“Okay,” Patrick says quietly. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

“I certainly don’t seem to be able to avoid you,” David replies, but there’s a small smile on his lips as he says it.

* * *

“You’re a business-type person, right?”

Patrick glances up from his meatloaf and into the slightly frazzled face of David Rose.

“Funnily enough, that’s exactly what it says on my business card,” he says with a grin, and David rolls his eyes even as he slides into the booth opposite Patrick. 

“Seriously. What do you know about brand acquisition?”

Patrick tilts his head. “Isn’t that something that would fall under a brand manager’s role?”

David throws his hands up into the air. “Oh my God,” he says. “I’m trying to  _ ask you for advice _ and you’re just being  _ snippy _ with me!”

“Did you ask me for advice, though, David?” 

David glares at him for a moment before squeezing his eyes shut and sucking in a breath. When he opens them again he doesn’t look angry, just pleading.

“Patrick,” he says, “can I please ask you for some advice?”

“Sure, office hours are 9 till 3.”

“Oh my God, never mind,” David grumbles as he gets up from the table. Patrick realises he’s let the teasing go too far and grabs his wrist, pulling him back.

“I’m sorry. I’m kidding. Sit.”

David sits, eyeing him warily.

Patrick pastes on his best professional smile. “How can I help?”

“Okay,” David says quickly before launching into a meandering story Patrick mostly follows — something about a rival chain and a brand buyout offer. 

“Right,” Patrick says once David finally stops talking. “Look, this isn’t my area of expertise but if they’re a large chain store, ten thousand sounds like a really lowball offer. I’d see if you can get a hold of their financials — I don’t know Australian business rules, but you can often find year-end financial statements online. If they’re as big as it sounds like they are, even something like 0.1% of what they bring in each year would be huge for your boss and a drop in the bucket for them.”

David frowns. “What if we try to negotiate and they decide not to give us anything?”

“It’s a risk,” Patrick says carefully, “but — and again, this isn’t my usual area — I think the fact that they’re sending someone out, as opposed to just mailing a contract and then a cheque once the contract’s signed, shows that they really need signoff. It means they don’t want to risk a mail delay, or it getting forgotten on someone’s desk. They want to be able to stand over you and get it resolved. And if they want it resolved that badly, you have some leverage.”

David nods slowly. “That makes a lot of sense,” he says before standing up. “Thank you, Patrick. I… really appreciate your help.”

“I’ll send you my consulting bill,” Patrick smirks at him.

“Mm,” David raises an eyebrow. “Well if it doesn’t work I’ll have no job, so I hope you’re very confident in your advice.”

It’s only once David leaves that Patrick realises their conversation was, start to finish, entirely pleasant.

* * *

Two nights later when Patrick tries to pay for his dinner, Twyla waves him off.

“David already settled your bill,” she says with a bright smile. “Something about a consulting fee?”

He glances around the café, but apparently David has already left.

* * *

By all accounts, Mutt’s barn party is the Schitt’s Creek social event of the year. Patrick missed the last one, and no less than six people approached him in the days ahead of it to make sure he was planning to attend this time. 

Patrick’s never been one for the whole ‘fashionably late’ thing, so the barn isn’t too crowded when he arrives. Mutt greets him and introduces him to his girlfriend Tennessee, and then points him in the general direction of food and drinks before he goes to talk to someone else. 

He knows a few people here — David and Stevie are talking quietly in one corner, and Twyla is chatting animatedly to a couple of people he recognises from around town but can’t name. Figuring some more people will turn up soon he grabs a beer out of one of the ice buckets, pulling his keys out of his pocket to use the bottle opener attached to the keyring.

“Mind if I borrow that?” a warm voice asks next to him, and Patrick turns. Standing next to him is a guy in an open flannel shirt, several inches taller than Patrick. He looks like he goes to the gym; what Patrick can see through his undershirt looks toned as hell, and he has a close-cropped beard framing a chiselled jaw. Patrick’s still learning how to look at men but this guy is really hot, and he can’t bring himself to mind that he’s standing just a little bit closer than a stranger normally would.

Realising he’s been staring, he quickly hands over his keys and watches the way the muscles in the guy’s forearm flex as he pops the cap off his bottle.

“Thanks so much,” he says, returning the keys to Patrick and letting their fingers drag together a little as he pulls his hand away. Patrick swallows.

“I’m Jake, by the way,” the hot guy says, and Patrick brings his gaze up to Jake’s face with some difficulty.

“Patrick.”

Jake smiles. “Would you like to get some air, Patrick?”

“Yeah,” Patrick breathes before he can think too hard about it. Jake just turns and heads for the door, Patrick following behind.

Once they’re outside Jake turns quickly and Patrick almost runs headlong into his chest before Jake catches him, his arms wrapped tight around Patrick’s biceps. Patrick stutters out an apology but Jake just laughs, sliding his hands slowly up Patrick’s arms, surprisingly gentle along the side of his neck until they’re framing his face. And then Jake is kissing him and Patrick feels it in his fingertips, through his toes, behind his navel. It’s an electrical current running through him, waking his body up.

If Patrick had any remaining lingering doubts about his sexuality, Jake’s hands and his tongue quickly wash them away.


	3. Chapter 3

Patrick is getting used to his new routine. One that includes Jake. 

When he’d finally pulled away from the kiss that night, his head spinning, Jake had smiled easily at him. His smile hadn’t wavered as Patrick had stuttered his way through a  _ that was my first time, with a guy; _ he’d just stroked a thumb along Patrick’s cheek, making him shiver despite the warmth in the air, and had said they could take things at whatever pace Patrick was comfortable with.

After a few dates consisting of nothing more than some making out in semi-public places and a tour of Jake’s workspace — which had shown off the clean lines of both Jake’s furniture designs and his arms — Patrick had taken Jake up on his offer to show off his  _ woodworking  _ skills over whiskey at his apartment.

* * *

Patrick arrives at the Wobbly Elm early one evening, intending to have a drink or two before Jake meets him there, and is surprised to see David knocking back shots alone at the bar.

“Feeling happy, are we?” he asks, sliding onto the stool beside him without waiting for an invitation; David just looks at him without so much as a glare.

“Well,” he starts. “First I found out that the guy I was seeing was also seeing Stevie. And that was fine. Weird, but fine. Except then, last night he decided to suggest that we  _ all…” _ he trails off, waving his hand vaguely. “Which is a terrible idea, obviously, given Stevie and I barely escaped with our friendship intact last time.”

Patrick signals the bartender and orders them both a shot. When David raises an eyebrow at him, he just shrugs.

“Friends don’t let friends do shots alone, David.”

“Are we friends?” David asks archly.

“If I can still say acquaintances then I definitely deserve a shot, so.” He grins, and after a second of eyeing him carefully David smiles back.

“Well,” he says, picking up his shot glass. “Cheers to… no longer getting dicked down by Jake, I guess.”

Patrick freezes with his own drink halfway to his lips. He knows Jake is seeing other people. He’d asked directly on their first date, and Jake had answered just as directly. Patrick appreciated the honesty; he doesn’t need this thing with Jake to be more than it is. Jake is gorgeous, and kind, and capable, but there’s not a whole lot of substance to him. And in terms of a first experience with a guy, Jake is basically perfect; he’s patient and willing to explore. Neither of them are in it for the long term, but they both know where the other stands and that’s what matters. 

In retrospect, in a town the size of Schitt’s Creek, Patrick probably should have asked for names.

David frowns at him. “You don’t want the shot?”

Shit. 

Patrick grimaces. “I, uh… don’t think I can drink to that toast, David,” he confesses quickly before cringing, waiting for the explosion.

He watches a whole array of emotions flicker over David’s overly expressive face: confusion, puzzlement, understanding. Surprisingly, it doesn’t settle on fury but a kind of horrified amusement.

“Oh my  _ God,” _ he says, snatching the shot glass out of Patrick’s hand and knocking it back. “I deserve that more than you do.”

Patrick chuckles as he scrubs a hand along the back of his neck. “Yeah, that’s fair.” 

“You and Jake.”

Patrick nods. “Yep.”

“How long?” David doesn’t sound upset, just curious. 

“Um,” Patrick hesitates, hoping there isn’t a wrong answer here. “He kissed me at Mutt’s party?”

David stares at him. “Wow,” he says finally. “Just, wow. Is there anyone in this town that  _ isn’t _ fucking Jake?”

“I mean, I’m at least 80% sure Ray isn’t, if that helps.”

David’s face tips over into disgust. “Mm, thank you so much for  _ that _ mental image.” He waves at the bartender. “My friend here is buying another round.”

“Oh,  _ now _ we’re friends?”

“When I lived in New York, I had lots of friends as long as I was buying the drinks,” David says flippantly, but there’s a small frown on his lips and Patrick mirrors it. He makes it sound like his friends were only hanging out with him for his money, but— that can’t be right, can it? He remembers seeing David on the covers of those trashy tabloid magazines, stumbling out of bars surrounded by people.

He’s not going to ask. He nods at the bartender instead, and she pours them another shot each.

“Oh hey,” David says before they can drink them, his tone surprisingly even. “Did you— with your parents? Yet? Now that you’re…”

Patrick shakes his head. “It’s not really an over the phone conversation,” he says, running his finger absent-mindedly around the edge of the shot glass. “Besides, Jake’s not— it’s not serious. I mean, did  _ you _ introduce your parents to Jake?”

“Not voluntarily,” David mutters, but he doesn’t elaborate. 

Patrick holds his shot glass up, and David clinks them together. “Cheers,” he says, and they both throw their heads back before David squints at him.

“Are you meeting Jake here?” he asks, and Patrick nods. “Right. I’m going to go, then. I’ve already hit my awkwardness limit for the week, I think.” He slides off the stool, hovering for a moment. “Thanks for the drinks,” he says finally. “I’ll see you around.”

Before Patrick can reply, David is making his way towards the door.

* * *

As it turns out, a murder mystery party is not  _ the next best thing to an escape room, Patrick! _ as Twyla had tried to convince him earlier in the day. But at least there’s alcohol, so the night isn’t a total bust. He spots David, hanging up his phone with a look of intense frustration on his face, and can’t quite smother a grin at the gesture he’s made towards the theme. 

“I have to thank you, David,” he says as he approaches, and David eyes him warily. 

“Why?”

“Well,” Patrick says with a smirk, “I was feeling self-conscious about my choice of headwear, but yours has… definitely surpassed me.”

David purses his lips, bringing his hand up to the glittery gold feather headband almost automatically. “Mmkay. I will not be accepting fashion critiques from someone wearing a fedora, thanks so much.”

“Noted,” Patrick says. “So, who do you think the murderer is?”

“My mom,” David says absently, and Patrick frowns. He hasn’t seen Moira Rose all evening, and she does tend to stick out in a crowd. “She’s not here,” David adds as he grabs a couple of pre-poured wine glasses off the café counter. He hands one to Patrick without a word and clinks then together before taking a long sip while Patrick tries to figure out how they’re supposed to solve a murder mystery with no murderer. 

“So!” David asks after a moment, his voice painfully bright like he’s trying desperately not to sound sarcastic. “How’s Jake?”

“Oh,” Patrick frowns down at his glass. “We’re not seeing each other anymore.”

It fizzled out several weeks ago; Jake got busy with work and Patrick got distracted by baseball, and they just couldn’t find the time. There’s no hard feelings on either side — they just reached their inevitable conclusion. 

“Ah,” David says awkwardly. “Sorry to hear that.” 

Patrick shrugs. “I’m not too broken up about it. And hey,  _ I _ was never invited to a throuple, so…”

“Mm. If you want to make fun of me for that you’re going to have to get more alcohol into me first,” David says, draining his glass. 

“All right, then.”

* * *

“Any particular reason you booked this appointment through Ray?”

David shrugs awkwardly as he sits down. “You do realise I don’t actually have your phone number, right?”

“Oh.” Patrick did not, in fact, realise that. “Well, here.” He hands one of his business cards over the desk and David takes it, twirling it around in his fingers. 

“Um,” he says. “Do you want me to call you to make another appointment, or can I keep this one?”

“Oh, I suppose I can let Ray sneak an appointment in just this once,” Patrick says with a smirk. “So, congrats on beating out Christmas World.”

David pulls a face. “Ugh, can you imagine?”

Patrick swallows a laugh at the affronted tone as he pulls the blank incorporation paperwork he printed off this morning towards him. “Why don’t we start with the name of the business?”

“Oh,” David looks stumped. “Um, I’m oscillating between two names at the moment, so if we could just leave that one blank that would be great.”

“Sure, sure,” Patrick lets the teasing grin stretch across his face. “Give you more time to… oscillate.” David rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Business address?”

“Um,” David chews his lip. “Can we put the motel address, or is that too confusing?”

“No the motel should be fine,” Patrick says. 

David nods, but doesn’t say anything. 

“David?” he prompts gently after a moment.

“What?”

“I need the motel address.”

David frowns. “Why would I know that?”

“Because… you’ve lived there for two years?” Patrick can’t believe he’s been here this long either — this was never meant to be a permanent move, but here he is. Although he, at least, knows his address.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” David mutters. When Patrick just waits, he throws his hands up in the air. “Oh my God, I don’t know the address, okay? Who even needs an address in this town? Pretty sure ‘Schitt’s Creek Motel’ would find me  _ just fine!” _

Ray and his clients are all staring at the outburst, and David sinks down in his seat. 

“I’ll look up the motel address before I send the forms in,” Patrick says after a long silence. 

David nods. “Thank you,” he murmurs. 

Patrick waits until the photography session has started again before turning his attention back to the form. “Oh hey, here's an easy one,” he says encouragingly. “A brief description of the business.”

“Um well, it’s… um,” David stutters. “It’s a general store, but it's also a very specific store. And it’s also not just a store, it's like a place where people can come and get coffee or drinks. But it's not a coffee shop. Nor is it a bar…”

“Okay, so we’re pretty clear on what it's not,” Patrick can’t help teasing, and David bites his lip. 

“Yeah. It's an environment. Um, and yes, we will be selling things, but it's more like— more like a branded immersive experience.”

Patrick’s trying, he really is, but he just can’t envisage what David is talking about. “I love the buzzwords, David, but I do need to put something down here,” he points out, and he can see the moment when David just  _ deflates.  _

“Okay, you couldn’t use anything I just said?” He looks like he’s ready to run out of the room, and Patrick feels awful.

“You know what? Forget about the form for a second,” he says quickly. “What do you want to  _ do _ with the space?”

David closes his eyes, almost like he’s visualising it. “I want to support local artists,” he says slowly. “Rebrand local products and crafts under the store’s brand.”

“There,” Patrick says triumphantly. “That’s your elevator pitch.” 

David only opens one eye so he’s squinting across the desk. “My what?”

“Your elevator pitch. Your short and sweet description of what you’re doing. What you tell prospective vendors, investors, whoever, to pique their interest.”

“Oh,” David says softly. “Okay.”

Apparently all David needed was a bit of a confidence boost, because they fly through the rest of the questions. 

“That’s it,” Patrick says when they’re done. “Just let me know when you’ve decided on a name and we can—” 

“Rose Apothecary,” David cuts him off. “I’ve decided. Rose Apothecary.”

It’s a good name; it will make a strong brand. Patrick’s impressed, if not particularly surprised. 

“I like it,” he says before adding teasingly, “it’s just pretentious enough.”

“Would we call that pretentious or timeless?” David shoots back. 

Patrick shakes his head with a smile. “I’ll call you when I hear something, David.”

* * *

Patrick can’t stop thinking about Rose Apothecary. 

It’s an inventive idea; the kind of thing that could really take off in a tight-knit community like this. He wants to be involved. And he thinks David could use the help. 

He can’t help but laugh at the thought of what the Patrick of two years ago would think if he could see current Patrick  _ deliberately _ spending more time with David Rose. But at some point between then and now, David mellowed out… and yeah, Patrick probably did too, if he’s being fair. 

Somewhere along the way they became friends, he’s pretty sure, even if he suspects David might be allergic to the word. And friends help each other. Friends even, sometimes, go into business together. 

He waits until the business licence comes back to put his proposal to David. And he’s not sure if David is feeling overwhelmed, or just wants company, or if it’s the unwavering confidence Patrick tries his best to project when he says  _ I’m going to get the money _ — but David agrees much quicker than Patrick thought he would. 

* * *

Over the next few weeks, as they get ready to set up the store, Patrick gets a much more detailed look than he would have expected at David’s fashion choices. The brands —  _ designers, _ David had grumbled once, so obviously Patrick now refers to brands as often as possible — tend to fly over his head somewhat but he has a fairly good idea of the overall look David prefers. Or at least, he thinks he does until the morning David walks in later than normal with two café cups and a look unlike anything Patrick’s seen on him so far: a pair of black jeans that are ripped at the knee and a leather jacket, oversized sunglasses covering his eyes. David hands Patrick his tea before taking a long drink from his own cup, gulping greedily. 

“Late night?” Patrick asks. He’s joking, poking fun at David’s caffeine addiction apparently being in overdrive today, but David actually  _ flinches _ and Patrick immediately feels guilty. 

“Sorry, I didn’t—” 

“Mm, no, it’s fine,” David cuts him off. “It’s just, um. My ex was in town, last night. And I went to… see him. So.”

“Oh.” There’s a rolling feeling in Patrick’s gut; he wonders if Twyla has been experimenting with tea flavours again. That’s why David looks so different — it’s a  _ last night  _ outfit. “Well, it’s good that you two were able to… patch things up.”

“Oh my God, no,” David blurts out. “He’s a monster. I just… look, it’s a long story. Let’s just say everyone got what they deserved and now he’s gone. Hopefully for good.” He picks up a box of shampoo and carries it through to the back room — which is for the best, because Patrick suddenly has a very complicated tangle of emotions that he’s trying to work through. Chief amongst them are relief that the ex has left town, and a simmering sort of jealousy. 

It makes no sense. It’s not like he could have  _ feelings _ for David. They hated each other two years ago, after all; sure, they don’t now, but still.

_ The opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s indifference. _

Where did he read that? It sounds like one of those vacuous things that gets shared around Facebook from time to time, but he has to admit there’s a ring of truth to it; it takes far more energy to hate someone than to not care, after all, and Patrick certainly spent a fair amount of energy, if not hating, then actively disliking David when he first moved to town. Looking back, it’s obvious that David Rose was under his skin from the very first time they met.

Which isn’t— it’s not— he likes David, sure. Cares about his happiness. Hates the thought of him fucking some guy he has a history with.

Finds excuses to put himself in David’s space.

Oh,  _ God _ . Patrick is an idiot. 

“Hey, David?” he calls out, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Do you mind if I head out?”

David’s head appears through the curtain. He’s biting his lip, a worried frown pressing his eyebrows together, and — yeah. Patrick wants to kiss the concern right off his face.

Shit. Shit shit shit. 

Why couldn’t he have figured this out  _ before _ he signed on as David’s business partner?

“You’re my partner, not my employee, you don’t need my permission,” he says. “Are you feeling okay, though? Is there anything I can do?”

_ Kiss me. _ “No, thank you. I’m just feeling a bit— just need to clear my head, I think.” 

“Okay,” David says softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Patrick nods, and tries not to look like he’s fleeing as he… well, flees.

Luckily Ray isn’t home, so Patrick is able to get changed into his hiking gear in peace. Once he has everything he needs, he jumps in the car and heads for Rattlesnake Point.

* * *

The hike helps in theory, but in practice things are awkward. Being near David is overwhelming and all-consuming. When Patrick shows David how to use the cash register, David stands so close to him Patrick can hardly think about anything but the warmth of David behind him. There’s a terrible moment of Alexis flirting with him, which ends with him lying about a cat allergy. And then there’s a lice outbreak at the motel, and before Patrick’s brain can catch up his mouth is offering to let David stay over. 

David frowns at him. “Aren’t you still living with Ray? What sleeping arrangements are you offering me, exactly?” he asks, incredulous, and Patrick flushes all the way down to his toes. 

“Just trying to make sure you don’t have to sleep in the car, David,” he says, hoping his voice is nice and light. From the slightly puzzled look David gives him, he’s not sure he succeeds. 

“Well, Stevie already offered her place, so…” he starts before trailing off, and Patrick tries to quash his disappointment. It was a stupid idea anyway. What was he going to say?  _ Sure, David, we can totally share my bed. That’s a normal thing that business partners do. Hey, mind if we cuddle? It’s team-building. _

He needs to figure out if David actually reciprocates or not, and soon. He’s at risk of wearing out the soles of his hiking boots. 

“Hey, uh, David?”

David doesn’t glance up at him from where he’s unpacking a box. “Mm?”

_ Ask him out. Tell him how you feel. Say  _ **_something._ **

“I’m thinking about asking my parents to come down for the store launch. I haven’t seen them since I moved here.”

Wait, what? He doesn’t even know where that  _ came _ from; the thought hasn’t crossed his mind, consciously at least, until this very moment. But the rightness of it settles into his bones once it’s out there. He loves his parents, hates that he’s been so distant with them since moving to Schitt’s Creek. He wants them to know this huge, fundamental part of himself. 

“Sure, put them on the list,” David says absently, but then he freezes with a bottle of body milk in his hand and looks at him with wide eyes. “Oh. You’re gonna—”

“Yeah,” Patrick breathes. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“Well,” David says, “that’s… good.” He eyes Patrick carefully. “You’ll feel better, after you tell them,” he says, and it feels like a question even if it’s worded as a statement. 

“I will,” he says, and David nods. 

* * *

The launch sneaks up on them in a flurry of last-minute preparations. Patrick spends the little spare time he has doing what David calls ‘panic hiking’ and Patrick prefers to think of as ‘thinking through the best way to come out’. 

“Don’t overthink it,” is David’s last-minute and fundamentally unhelpful suggestion as they’re preparing to leave the shop for the night. In under 24 hours, they will have officially launched Rose Apothecary; in less than 10 minutes he’s meeting his parents at the café for dinner after they arrived earlier in the afternoon. 

“Hi, have we met?” Patrick replies. “Patrick Overthinking Brewer, nice to meet you.”

David laughs before he comes around the counter and squeezes Patrick’s arm softly. David is a tactile person, he thinks nothing of brushing their arms together or resting a hand on Patrick’s shoulder when they’re both looking at something on the computer, but he’s never touched Patrick quite so deliberately or comfortingly before. Patrick has to fight the urge to lean into it. 

“There’s nothing wrong with a good old-fashioned ‘Mom, Dad, I’m gay’,” he says quietly before adding, “Or you could always try my approach: ‘Mom, Dad, I’ll fuck whoever I want to fuck and if you have an issue with that then it’s your problem’.”

Patrick chuckles even though his throat is a little tight. “I might try the less abrasive option, but thanks.”

“Mm. I don’t think I’ve ever chosen the less abrasive option in my life, but whatever you think is best.”

There’s a long silence. David doesn’t drop his hand. 

“David?” Patrick whispers. 

“Yeah?”

This is the fear he hasn’t voiced. The fear that has sent him up Rattlesnake Point again and again since his parents confirmed they were coming to the launch. 

“What if they don’t react the way I think they will?”

David brings his free hand up to Patrick’s shoulder and squeezes both hands tight. “Then you will call me,” he says quietly. “And I will come, and I’ll help you through it.”

Patrick’s eyes are wet and he has to blink a few times to clear them. “Thank you, David,” he says thickly, and David smiles. 

“It’s no problem,” he says softly. “Now.” He squeezes once more before dropping his hands, and Patrick immediately aches with the loss of him. “You have a dinner to get to, and I have a specially crafted pre-launch skincare routine that I need to start. So we should go.”

They lock up, but just before Patrick turns to the café David stops him with a hand on his arm. 

“Call me if you need anything,” he says with more sincerity than Patrick’s ever heard in David’s voice. “But I don’t think you will.”

Patrick nods, swallowing past the lump in his throat, but David walks away before he can reply. 

His parents are already sitting in a booth when he enters the café, and he sucks in a shaky breath before walking over to their table. His mom spots him first, leaping up with a small cry, and then he finds himself wrapped up in two pairs of arms he didn’t realise he missed desperately until this moment. 

After the requisite hugs and a few tears (mostly his mom’s, though Patrick isn’t ashamed to admit not all of them) they sit down, and Twyla comes over to take their orders. Once she’s left Patrick screws up his courage. 

“There’s, uh, something I’ve been meaning to tell you guys, but I wanted to do it in person. Something I’ve realised, since I moved here.”

His parents glance at each other before turning back to him. “All right, sweetheart,” his mom says cautiously. “You can tell us anything.”

He does take a leaf out of the David Rose advice book, in the end. 

“Mom, Dad… I’m gay.”

There’s a long silence. 

“Well,” his dad says finally. “That’s— we just want you to be happy, son. Are you happy?”

Patrick nods quickly as he wipes a hand across the back of his eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “It, uh, really made a few things make sense for me when I figured it out.” He glances nervously over at his mom, who hasn’t said anything yet, but she just gives him a watery smile before reaching over the table to squeeze his hand.

“We love you no matter what,” she says fiercely, her hand vice-like on his own. “I just hate the thought that you were unhappy before.”

“I wasn’t…” he trails off, because that’s not entirely true. “I didn’t know I was missing something until I found it,” he says instead, and his mom nods. 

“So, is there a boy, or…?” she asks.

Patrick shakes his head. “No. I mean, there was, briefly. I dated a guy, but… it wasn’t serious. No one now, though.”

“Oh.”

“You sound disappointed,” Patrick laughs.

“I’m not disappointed,” she says quickly. “I just, you know, you mention this business partner of yours a lot, and I thought maybe—”

“Oh, no,” he says quickly. “David and I aren’t— we’re not—”

He’s saved from his stammering protestations by Twyla, who appears beside the table with their drinks. 

* * *

It’s only as they’re leaving that Patrick glances at their store across the street, and his heart sinks. 

“Shit, the electrician,” he mutters, and both his parents turn to look at him with confused expressions. “We were meant to call the electrician to fix the lights, and we didn’t.” 

‘We’ in this case being David, but he doesn’t want to blame David to his parents.

“Hmm,” his dad says. “Have you got a toolbox at the store?”

And that’s how Patrick finds himself up a ladder at 9pm with his mom holding his phone, pointing a YouTube tutorial up at him while his dad talks over it and offers suggestions. 

* * *

They launch Rose Apothecary to a line around the block, and the look of mingled joy and disbelief on David’s face as people start streaming into the store is enough to suck the air right out of Patrick’s lungs. 

They don’t get a chance to speak much, a constant stream of customers keeping them busy. Patrick stays behind the register while David works the shop floor, and when the first person approaches the counter Patrick has to stamp down the urge to call David over, make him part of the moment. He contents himself with printing off a second copy of the receipt and tucking it carefully into the drawer underneath the till for safekeeping. 

When his parents arrive Patrick is too busy to even greet them properly, but his mom makes a beeline for David as soon as she sees him — Patrick sent them a picture of him and David outside the store the day the signage went up, so she knows what he looks like — and wraps him up in a tight hug. David stares wide-eyed at Patrick over her shoulder but he just shrugs, grinning widely before turning his attention back to the customer in front of him. 

Patrick, for his part, doesn’t actually get to say hello to them until they approach the counter, both with arms full of product. He opens his mouth but hasn’t even had a chance to get a greeting out when his mom leans over the counter and says conspiratorially, “You lied to us about David last night, didn’t you?”

The back of Patrick’s neck feels hot. Is the way he looks at David that obvious? “I— no I didn’t,” he says quickly. “We’re not— nothing’s going on.”

His mom frowns, glancing over to David and then back to him. “Oh, I really thought— the way he talks about you, the way he keeps looking over at you,” she says softly. Patrick just gapes at her. “I— misinterpreted, I guess.”

“Um,” he starts, trying to regain his focus. “Can I ring all this up for you guys?”

Once they’ve left, both insisting he bring David to brunch tomorrow “so we can get to know your business partner properly, sweetheart,” Patrick can’t help flicking his eyes towards David only to find him looking back, a small smile on his face. He tears his gaze away with some difficulty to serve the next customer. 

And that’s the only type of interaction he gets with David for the rest of the night — glances across the room. Every time Patrick looks over at him David returns his gaze, and several times Patrick gets that prickly feeling of being watched only to look up and catch David’s eye. There’s a heat to it, every time, and Patrick is pretty sure it’s more than just the exhilaration of a ridiculously successful store launch; far more anticipatory than excitement over the day’s sales. 

By the time they lock the door behind the last customer Patrick is practically vibrating out of his skin, but there are disposable plates and wine cups everywhere and the shelves are a mess. They set to work without a word, Patrick collecting garbage while David straightens out the stock, and they move around each other in companionable silence until the store is finally looking respectable again. When they’re done Patrick leans back on the counter as David stands in front of him, clearly trying to hide his smile and failing miserably. 

“Well this was a success,” David says finally, breaking the charged silence. 

“I would say so, yeah. Although, you know, we'd be 25 percent richer if we’d just done a hard launch.” Patrick smirks, enjoying the flustered look on David’s face immensely. “But hey… I'm just a numbers guy.”

David shakes his head. “Um, but had we not done the soft launch we wouldn't have lured all those people.”

Patrick pretends to consider this. “Well you know, the best thing is that we never have to talk about it again, because we've officially opened,” he says finally. 

The smile that spreads across David’s face is breathtaking in his genuineness. “That is true.”

Patrick takes a deep breath and a step forward. “Congratulations,” he says as he opens his arms. 

They’ve never hugged. For one brief, horrifying second he wonders if David is going to brush him off but Patrick sees the moment his shoulders relax as he steps into it. 

“Congratulations to you,” he says, quieter than Patrick has ever heard him. And then he has David in his arms and Patrick isn’t sure how he’s ever going to let go. 

Neither of them breaks the embrace. Patrick could turn his head, just a fraction; if he did his lips would be pressed up against David’s neck, right at the—

The lights flicker, and the moment is broken.

“I can fix that,” Patrick mutters as he starts to pull away. 

“Fuck the lights,” David growls and then his hands are on Patrick’s shoulders, gripping them tightly as he hauls Patrick in and  _ oh, finally.  _

Jake kissed with his hands, but David kisses with his entire body; one hand finds its way to Patrick’s neck, cool rings pressing into the sensitive flesh and making him shiver, while the other slides down to the small of his back and pulls him even closer. Patrick gasps at the extra contact and oh God, he’s burst into flames, hasn’t he? This is how he dies, his blood turned to molten lava by the feel of David Rose’s erection pressed against his hip. 

What a way to go. 

It’s David who breaks the kiss, panting like he’s just run a marathon, his lips shining and a little swollen where Patrick’s teeth scraped across them. 

“We can’t— there are  _ windows,” _ he gasps, his eyes dark. 

Before Patrick can reply — possibly to say  _ fuck the windows, _ he’s not sure — his stomach makes a distractingly loud growling sound and he’s forced to remember he hasn’t eaten since lunchtime. It breaks the tension; Patrick can’t quite contain the laughter that bubbles up in him, embarrassment and relief and joy all at once. 

“Okay,” he grins. “We should go to the café. Celebrate opening day with a bottle of zhampagne.”

“You want our first date to be the questionable kitchen practices of Café Tropical?” David asks, his lips twitching. 

“Oh, no,” Patrick says blandly. “This is just two colleagues having dinner after a successful store launch.”

David’s face falls, and Patrick realises his mistake a second too late; he takes David’s face in his hands and leans in close.

“I’m going to take you on a date that’s worthy of you, David Rose,” he murmurs quietly. “We can do a lot better than moderately edible, I think.”

David flushes all the way down to the neckline of his sweater, face scrunched up like he’s desperately trying to contain the grin spreading across his face, and Patrick really wants to know how much lower the blush goes. In the meantime, he pulls David in for just one more long, lingering kiss before they head over to the café.

He’s going to plan one hell of a first date. And tomorrow, he’s going to bring David along for brunch. 

God, his mom is going to be unbearably smug. 

Patrick looks over at David’s smile, open and uninhibited, and decides he doesn’t mind at all.

**Author's Note:**

> I want to say another huge thank you to TINN for holding my hand and making this whole thing cleaner and just plain better. And thank you so much for indulging this first little foray into posting a multi-chapter as I go :)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Come and find me on [Tumblr](http://yourbuttervoicedbeau.tumblr.com).


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